Israel Lets me Down in my Time of Need

Today (March 15) I went to get a duplicate driver’s license. I have to have a passport if I’m going to travel to Israel to meet the Zambian sweet potato, and I need a photocopy of my driver’s license and old passport to get a new passport.

On Friday, I got my license out and put it in my pocket by itself. I wanted to make sure I knew exactly where it was when I started working on the passport. I spent quite a while trying to scan my old passport. I had software problems. I gave up and made a copy without scanning it into the PC. Then I looked for the license, and it had vanished.

It’s still gone. The thing that drives me crazy is knowing it’s in this house and I can’t find it.

They gave me ticket number 52 when I got to the tax collector’s office. I wasn’t paying attention, so I thought it said 62. I got up when they called that number, a good long time after I had arrived. The lady who actually had 62 was not happy with me. Fortunately they let me get back in line ahead of number 63.

Today we passed a major milestone. We didn’t spend an irresponsibly long time video chatting. Finally. I was afraid we would do it every day until the world fell apart around us.

I knew there had to come a time when we would be able to bear time apart. Most couples get really, really good at it. Maybe now we’ll be able to get a few things done.

It has been hard to figure out what to do. Things developed so quickly. Should I ship her here right away so we could get to know each other face-to-face and make sure where we want to go forward? Good idea, but it takes time to get a visa. Should we meet in Israel for the same purpose? Also a good idea, but my passport will take time to arrive.

It all boils down to time. Which of these things can we do fastest? She will be busy in May, so we need to try to get together in April.

I think I could get a passport by the first week of April, based on what I’ve read. I think I should try to do that. I’ll need evidence of plans to travel. I may have to buy a ticket for myself. If I do, what happens if the State Department doesn’t come through in time? Can I get a refund? Can I get refunds for her airfare and travel expenses? I don’t know. I have to find out.

What about coronavirus? Will I have to be tested in order to travel? What if I fail? Do I have to eat my ticket, stay home, and text her about her great Israel trip?

I should Google.

Okay, Googling over.

It’s not a pretty picture. Israel is closed. Even the Messiah can’t get a visa. You have to qualify to enter under a short list of exceptions, and neither of us will make the cut.

Europe is not good. I looked at Greece, as an example. Closed.

What if I go to Zambia? No problem, except they’ll make me stay in quarantine for 14 days. Forget that.

Mexico will work, as will South Africa. Sweden might work. South Africa requires a 35-hour trip for me. Neither she nor I would need a visa.

Okay, here’s the obvious question: what are we supposed to do with our time in South Africa? We are Christians, so the answer you’re thinking of is not an option. I guess we could go around looking at lions and elephants. Not that exciting for an African girl.

What do tourists do in Sweden? I think they look at fjords and go home. Nothing ever happened in Sweden. The Swedish Empire never ruled half the world. No saviors were born there. America never had a revolution and broke off from Sweden. There are no Swedish pyramids. They have no alps. What do people do?

Greece is very interesting. Actually, it’s probably a lot more interesting to me than to anyone who grew up in Africa. Anyway, it’s closed. Like Wally World in Family Vacation. The muse out front should have told you.

I didn’t know any of these obstacles existed, but then I don’t do a lot of international travel.

What kind of lives can we have, if this craziness continues? Would we find ourselves sitting around the house together until Jesus came? Of course, a lot of other people have been living that way for over a year, so I suppose it wouldn’t be an unusual punishment serious enough to make two people avoid marriage. I suppose we sit around the house most of the time now, except we’re not together.

This would only be the first phase of our international moves. Even if we got together and became convinced we should keep going forward, we would still have to go through this again for the marriage. What will the travel picture be like a few months from now? What if coronavirus variants have run amok by then, essentially ending international travel? Would it still be possible to get a fiancee visa?

Is it too late for us? Is anyone else out there still getting married?

Who cares? Worrying is pointless, so I won’t do it. If God wants us together, nothing can stop us.

World’s Least Probable Romance Still Going Strong

I guess I should blog a little more about my impending purchase, and by that I mean my Zambian wife.

No, I have not proposed. But we are moving forward fast, and we are talking about things that have to be done if we keep it up.

It now appears nearly certain that I will have to buy her. If you think you’ve had weird days in your life, wait till you blog about buying a person. It’s hard to top.

She does not want to pay her relatives. She feels they have not been as gracious as they should in the past. She also wants to do the right thing, however, and she is concerned that refusing to pay may be an omission, rooted in bittnerness, which is not God’s will. She is concerned about the scandal.

After praying, we are both inclined to think we should just pay them off.

The good news is that the fee should be lower than her airfare to the US.

In order to avoid creating a scandal in Zambia, we may have to create one here. Like I care.

According to custom, her family is supposed to take part of the cow windfall and put it toward a month of sex and submission lessons for her. I don’t really know what to say about that. It wasn’t my idea. Before the relationship began, I would have been happy to be able to say, “My wife isn’t a giant pain in the butt every single day.” That would have been sufficient. I certainly didn’t expect a prospective bride to get professional wife lessons.

I do not plan to take husband lessons. I have been enduring raging, continuous, tone-deaf, sexist, feminist abuse and mind control for roughly half a century, so I think anything about me that needs to be corrected has already been addressed. It would be more appropriate to give me anti-feminist deprogramming lessons. The garbage they teach has ruined relations between the sexes. Nearly everything they tell us about women is a lie. No wonder we don’t know how to handle them.

I am told Americans like to butt into African culture and try to repair it. Our government uses aid dollars as pry bars to force change, and Africans resent it. It may well be that Obama and/or Clinton tried to turn Africa into a feminist utopia. I don’t know, because I don’t pay attention to stories about insane, intrusive liberal foreign policy. In any case, a Zambian marriage means paying for a wife and giving her sex lessons, irrespective of our government’s wishes.

I have written a letter inviting her to the US. This is needed so our State Department will grant her a visa. If her team approves it, I will have to send it to her place of work via DHS. The mail in Zambia doesn’t work. Big surprise there.

In these letters, you can’t say you are thinking about marriage, because the government will think your visitor will remain in the US. On the other hand, when you want a visa after you’re engaged, you get special treatment, even though it’s obvious the person will remain here. The special document is called a “fiancee visa.”

Tell me how that makes sense. Being in love is a problem, but being engaged is a big help.

We keep praying together every morning, as if it’s a routine thing we have been doing all our lives. We just fell into it, instantly. There is no pushing or prodding. I wake up and send her a text, and we’re off. It’s the most important thing we do.

When we video chat, we both say the same thing: it’s as if we’ve been doing it for years. I feel like I’m continuing something I started with her decades ago.

We’ve found some things we disagree on. She doesn’t like used furniture. I don’t want her to cut her hair. These are the major chasms that obstruct our romance. Other than that, our relationship is a continuous series of strong agreements.

Don’t get the idea she’s just agreeing after I tell her things. Women are famous for pretending to be what you want, only until the ring goes on. Then you’re caught, like an animal in a trap, and in order to get free, you have to chew off your house and retirement account. She talks a lot more than I do, and very often, I’m the one to interrupt to say how strongly I agree.

To sum things off, I feel like I stepped onto a bullet train that was already in motion. No red flags. No games. No walking on eggs. No effort. This is the kind of relationship I always dreamed of, but I didn’t think it could really happen in modern America. Modern American romance is sleazy, even when people think it’s classy. Thinking it’s classy is the saddest part.

I’m glad I’m not talking to a yoga-loving, Biden-voting, walking tattoo gallery who asks her slutty, unfulfilled, man-hating girlfriends how to play me. I said “slutty.” Slutty, slutty, slutty. It’s a good word. We don’t use it enough. America is full of women who are crying out for someone to have a spine and call them out on their errors.

I’m also glad I’m not interviewing with someone who wants to be my new mom so she can tell me what to eat, set my bedtime, “correct” my opinions, and wash my mouth out with gluten-free soap when I say things like “snowflake” or “semiauto.” My mom is dead. I loved her. I will not abide a new one.

It appears I have someone I can pour love into without being penalized. This is what I have always wanted. Maybe America is just not the place to look for wives. Maybe there are countries which produce good husbands, and countries which produce good wives, and they need to be connnected.

I have a lot to be grateful for. More than I ever imagined possible.

If things work out, it will be the most impressive proof of God’s greatness since the parting of the Red Sea. If not, it will simply confirm that I make mistakes.

Never Tell me I’m not the Romantic Type

Time for the latest news about my online matchmaking saga.

As always, I assume people will be waiting to hear that the rose-colored glasses have come off, I have realized Ms. Zambia was only after my money and a trip to America, and I have given her her walking papers.

Get ready to be disappointed. God is very good.

We now have a pattern. Every day, when my prayers start, I text her. She’s already up when I wake because of the time difference. I think it’s July in Zambia. There is nothing like having a strong Christian woman to pray with. A person who has no prayer partner is like a walled city with gaps in the walls. I have needed this for a very long time.

We don’t just pray. We talk about supernatural events. Monday, and Tuesday, I saw things while I was praying. I don’t mean I saw them as though they were real. They popped into my mind. Sometimes things like that come from God. Because I had her, I was able to describe them to her and see if God told her anything about them. We also prayed God would tell me about a vision he gave her last month.

Yesterday, after prayer, I started speaking in tongues and interpreting, and I ran the results by her as I went. We went about two hours.

She came back very quickly with scriptures supporting the words that came to me. Sometimes, they were the same scriptures I had thought of. Other times, she turned my attention to scriptures that hadn’t come to mind. I could not be more impressed.

Most Christians don’t know or understand much. They think Christianity means going to church so God won’t send you to hell, or being nice so God won’t send you to hell, or being forgiven once a week so you can start sinning again as soon as you hit the parking lot. They’re not really Christians. They worship niceness. Actual Christians who go online looking for love hate it when someone’s description says, “Spiritual, but not religious.” It’s a proclamation of willful ignorance.

I want someone who isn’t ignorant. They are exceptions. I see why Proverbs says the price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies. Even if it’s measured in Zambian sirloin.

She likes the way the Bible characterizes a wife as a helper. She says “helper” doesn’t mean “helpless.” That’s exactly right. If a woman isn’t powerful, she can’t be a helper. You have to be strong in order to help anyone.

America is full of women who like calling themselves strong in spite of their total lack of supernatural strength. The weakest women call themselves strong.

Being obnoxious and pushy and having a chip on your shoulder for men are not strength. It poisons the woman and rots the life of any man she latches onto.

I ransacked the first floor of my house yesterday, looking for my passport. No luck. Today while we talked, I asked her to pray about it. Then she had to attend a Zoom class. I asked God to help me find the passport. I walked over to a table with a lot of papers on it, moved a couple of things, picked up an envelope, reached inside it, and took the passport out.

If you don’t have your expired passport, it takes forever to get a new one. They assume you sold your old one to terrorists or to Mexican criminals who haven’t learned Biden will let anyone cross the border. Because I have the old one, I can make a plane reservation today and leave in about two weeks.

The plan is to meet in a third country to see how the relationship holds up.

As for marriage itself, there is a very serious possibility I will end up buying her for several cows. I discussed this here already. She doesn’t want me to do it, but she has concerns about making a stink in Zambia, and she doesn’t want problems with unforgiveness toward her dad’s family.

I have learned a lot about Zambia. Over there, when women want to put each other down, they brag about how submissive they are. They compete to see who is the best wife.

I am not making this up.

When a woman becomes engaged, someone pays a female trainer to consult with her and teach her how to be good in bed.

I don’t know why no one has made a movie about this. The comedy potential is endless.

I love how this is working out. I can’t wait for the day when leftists finally put me on trial for all my imaginary crimes. My list of confessions will be amazing.

1. “I bought my YOUNGER FOREIGN BLACK wife, who is very beautiful, with several cattle, and I framed the receipt.”

2. “I routinely call her ‘my little post-colonial cocoa bean,'” and she actually likes it.

3. “When she texts, she calls me her king.”

4. “She sent me a monkey emoji, and I told her it was my favorite picture of her.”

Heads will detonate like grenades.

My buddy Mike has a son who married a black girl who has gone way off into the BLM bush. I keep begging Mike to tell him what’s happening. I want him to film it so I can watch.

I am trying to find out what Zambian cattle weigh. It looks like American calves run about 600 pounds when they sell. Assuming the same thing is true in Africa, the latest price for a pound of Zambian cow on the hoof puts the cost at $360. That means one wife should come in at around $3600, which seems pretty high to me. I got a really nice used tool grinder for less than half of that.

It occurs to me that my remarks could result in American men stampeding to woo Zambian girls for all the wrong reasons. It sounds like marrying a Zambian is a pretty sweet deal.

If you’re a single American woman, perhaps it will be helpful to see what the competition is up to.

I just sent the following email:

It looks like cattle here in the US run about 600 pounds (272 KG) at sale, and the Zambian price is about $.60 per pound, so I am thinking a cow must run about $360. This would put you in the $3600 range, making you expensive yet considerably cheaper than a nice riding lawnmower.

Getting my passport renewed can take as little as two weeks, but in order to do it that fast, I have to have airline tickets. I am looking into Israel package deals. You might want to check on the cost of flights to the US, as well as the time required to get a visa, but Israel sounds very good to me.

She responded: “Glad to know I’m cheaper than your lawnmower.”

My reply: “Yes. Let’s not be extravagant.”

That’s all I have for now. I have to coordinate with my tiny subequatorial turnip. Prayers for guidance appreciated.

My Horse, my Ox, my Ass, my Anything

Dating and engagements are full of ups and downs, especially when you’re dealing with a person from a foreign country. Today I was surprised to learn that if I want to bring a Zambian lady home, I will be expected to buy her.

Apparently, her family will expect a ransom of somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 cows. Her sister went for 7, but her brother in law had good negotiators, and her sister didn’t have a college degree, so she was a budget bride.

I told her to tell them my opening offer was three chickens. I said that when I haggled, I believed in starting low.

I said to make sure she told them I was talking top of the line chickens. Nobody wants to sound cheap.

I told her to remind them she eats a lot and is no good for pulling a plow.

Art of the deal, baby. Four years of Trump taught me some things.

The cattle would go to her dad’s relatives because she’s an orphan with no older brother. She feels they would be getting something for nothing.

I asked her what men were worth She said, “Nothing. Men are useless.”

I find the idea of buying her very appealing, even if I don’t really have to do it. I just want to have a framed receipt for buying a wife. I want to be able to tell American women I bought her. I want to watch their heads detonate.

I think it would be fun to do an act for strangers, where I give her commands like a dog. “Woman! COME!” “Yes, master.” ” Now HEEL.” “Yes, exalted one.”

It would be a riot during the 15 or so seconds of life I would have before an American woman murdered me. The Proud Boys would build a statue of me.

Now that I know how hard it is to get into the United States unless you’re a Mexican criminal, I have been looking into ways for us to get together. I could try to bring her here for visit, but we’re not sure if it will work. My buddy Mike had suggested another option: a third country that doesn’t care who goes in or out. Specific destination: Cancun.

Ms. Zambia had another idea: Israel. The perfect tourist destination for Christians, and a place I have longed to revisit since my kibbutz days. I thought the suggestion was brilliant. Israel is relatively close to Zambia, and they need tourists.

Mike is still pushing Cancun. It’s where he goes for dental work. He says you can live in a top hotel there for $200 per week. I tried to explain that frugality was not the point. We found out what it costs to fly from Zambia to Cancun, and that chilled the discussion. It is not cheap.

What if I just scrapped the whole idea and started dating a violent Mexican drug queen? Whenever she wanted to see me, she could just walk into El Paso, and I could pick her up.

I didn’t realize how hard it was to get foreigners permission to visit America. I had told her I planned to have her shipped in a crate. I said it would be a very nice crate with snacks. Looks like it’s not that simple. She has to be interviewed, vetted, waterboarded, and so on. Illegals have it easy.

How much weirder can my life get? Whatever the answer is, I say bring it on. This is so much better than anything anyone I know is doing. Anyone who thinks God doesn’t have a sense of humor hasn’t been paying attention.

Can You Please me Even More Obvious?

In case you’re wondering if all the talk of the Antichrist and the war on Christianity is just conspiracy babble, I have news for you. I sent an email today, and I learned some things.

Yahoo Mail has no Jesus emoji. It has no cross emoji. It has no ichthys emoji.

It does have the star of David and the Muslim crescent.

When you type in “Christ,” it gives you two Christmas trees, a present, a snowman, and Santa Claus.

Nice try, tech kiddies, but you will never get rid of Christianity or the living God who created you. You are here for an instant, and then you’re forgotten. Jesus will endure forever.

Sitrep

I met a foreign lady online two days ago, things went incredibly well, I we spent hours talking to each other, and I became convinced she cared about me. Now it must be time for me to say I was living in a fool’s paradise and that I just found out she was only after my money.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Just kidding. Things are going great.

Today I heard from her early on, and after we talked a bit, I told her I needed to stop because I was talking to her when I was supposed to be praying. She understood completely and told me to go ahead.

I call that a test passed.

I got into my morning prayers, and eventually it occurred to me that I had someone available to agree with me. I said, “Let’s see you act like a wife.” I started sending things for her to agree with, as they came up.

She added a couple of things, too.

For the first time in ages, I had someone else on my team during prayers. This is the primary reason I started looking at women online. Every Christian slips. Every Christian misses things. You need someone who will stop the arrows you fail to deflect.

Ecclesiastes:

Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.

For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.

Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?

And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

We prayed for ourselves. We prayed for our friends. We prayed for the body of Christ. It was beautiful. I felt like I was bathing in a vat of love.

Ungodly couples get together and do what married people do. So are we, but instead of fornicating, we’re doing what godly married people do: teaming up in our service to God.

This is a lady God used to make a woman in a wheelchair get up and walk. She has cast out demons. She has been visited by Jesus. If we pray together, I won’t have to drag her like dead weight. She’ll get things done.

I was mentoring my young friend Travis until he got shot and died last year. He was the person I prayed with. He was the only person I could talk to about the deep things of God. I have prayed for God to send someone else. I prayed for God to send more than one person, because he repays manifold when there is a theft. I told him if he didn’t want to send me a wife, even a friend would be fine.

He came through.

Praying with a woman who is aligned with God and you is better than sex. The harmony of heaven becomes evident while you do it, and it surrounds you. It reminds you there is a better place where people are always united.

I feel like I’m hearing the voices of other people in my head. “You’re seeing what you want to see.” “You’re not doing anything to protect yourself.” “She doesn’t really want you.” “You’re just like all the other guys who try to buy wives.”

I have heard other people’s voices before, though. “Prayer in tongues is gibberish.” “Miracles don’t happen unless they come from the devil.” “Life isn’t supposed to be easy for Christians.” “You’ll die broke if you criticize TV preachers.”

The devil’s kids, many of whom are Christians, live in their own reality, which is bleak, and I live in mine, which is full of blessings. The word says the promises of God are “yes” and “amen.” Why should I listen to people who live in a different universe?

“I can’t get healed, so God doesn’t heal people any more.” “I can’t speak in tongues, so speaking in tongues isn’t for everyone.” “No one in my denomination prophesies, so prophecy is dead.” Christianity is full of dogs in mangers.

Imagine a conception taking place. One sperm cell always makes it, and the rest die. What would they say if they could talk to the one that wins? “Forget it, man. I tried, and it’s impossible. You think you’re going to make it? Who are you to talk that way? What an ego!”

It sounds like what they said to Jesus when he told people who he was.

People who think relationships like this one are impossible are generally people to whom many of God’s blessings seem impossible. Why would I listen to them?

As for pace, I thought about some people yesterday. Isaac and Rebecca. Esther and Ahasuerus. Ruth and Boaz. David and Abigail. They didn’t have lengthy courtships, because they were put in couples by God.

A website which may or may not be right says the average American couple dates (i.e. fornicates) for 3.3 years before getting married. About 40% of American marriages end in divorce. Looks like long test drives don’t really work.

Multi-year premarital relationships are also very bad for women. If you have a few typical boyfriends before you marry, you will be in your thirties when you tie the knot. Your fertility will be greatly reduced. Look it up. It’s worse if you put things off for your career. Many women start relationships when they’re up around 30, and these relationships often last 10 or more years before the men leave. I know a lady it happened to. She thought a friend of mine was going to marry her. She got her walking papers at the age of 38. One day, I said, “Where’s Helen?” He said, “I MADE her leave.”

Helen does not read my blog, so it’s okay if I say she was not an attractive lady, and her personality was not particularly appealing. My friend, on the other hand, was a radiologist who was considerably younger than she was. When it came to dating, he was like a big juicy pork chop in a dog pound. Losing Helen was a boost to his prospects, but it probably put an end to hers. It was an asymmetrical situation, and Helen probably didn’t think about that.

Maybe I should just give in and let things blossom. Many long, happy marriages start well. A flying start shouldn’t be considered a sign of trouble.

I have just about all of my friends praying God will guide us. I don’t ask for prayer that God will guide us. Just that he will guide us to the right people.

Hope the good news continues to flow.

Genesis 3:17

We all know how it goes when you meet someone you think may be your soulmate. On the first day, everything falls into place perfectly. You find out you have a ton in common. You agree about everything.

The second time you’re together, things still go really well, but you start to notice little areas you will need to work around.

The third time, more areas of disagreement open up, but you still think things can work. So you have sex. If you’re a woman, you have to have sex by the third encounter because men insist on test drives, and if you’re a man, if you don’t to it, she’ll tell everyone you’re gay.

Then you have sex for three more years, making sure the woman is on the pill and having abortions if needed. Then you get married because no one better has shown up.

It’s universal, right?

Not really.

I spent a huge portion of today communicating with the Zambian lady who pounced on me on a matchmaking site. Okay, maybe that’s not quite what she did, but she did fire the first shot. We can’t seem to find anything to disagree about. I think we may already have turned into one of those insufferable couples who spend way too much time together and always side with each other against their friends.

She blasted me out of bed with a video call at 9 a.m. I had awakened a lot earlier, but I fell asleep during my prayers. I had a dream. In the dream, I was in a hotel room with two cousins. One had a couple of puppies. I was playing with one. It was a chubby, friendly dog with spots like a fawn. I asked my cousin what kind of dog it was. He said, “It’s a summole. I said, “Summole?” He said, “Summole mutt.”

I thought that was a pretty good joke for a dream character to make up.

I insisted on showering and taming my hair, and then our day of relentless courtship began.

The first session took place with me in the gun room, in an office chair. Compared to yesterday, I got smart. I mounted my phone on a tripod so I wouldn’t have to hold it.

There was a break and then a second session. I grabbed a battery pack I bought for a night vision scope, and I hooked it up to my phone and Bluetooth earpiece. This assured the phone and earpiece had enough juice for the third session. Which came after a chat session.

I know there has to be something we disagree about. We just can’t find it.

I know what you’re thinking. “Someone in Africa who has pictures of a beautiful young woman went after an old goat in America, got him on the phone, and told him whatever he wanted to hear.”

Sorry to burst your bubble. She talked almost continuously for the first two hours or so. She gave me her testimony. I just listened. And you can’t fake video chat. The lady in the pictures is the lady on video.

She has had a whole bunch of supernatural experiences. She went to a prayer mountain on a 5-day fast (not even water), and she heard God’s voice. She has had visions. Jesus appeared to her in a dream, put a little TV screen in her hand, and showed her how he had looked after her all her life. She healed a paralyzed woman in a wheelchair, and the woman got up and walked. Later, the woman lost her healing and had to wait 10 years to get part of it back.

She likes T.B. Joshua. His church gives people water that has been prayed over (they refuse to sell it), and she dreamed she was spraying it on a giant snake that was on top of a building where a group of people were worshiping God. She said the water turned to fire, and the snake shrank down to a few centimeters. Then she squashed it.

She is militant about supernatural warfare, just like I am. She hates demons, just like I do. Like me, she seeks God’s help to be like powerful Christians of the past, who worked miracles and did all sorts of things to glorify God.

She loves correction and repentance. She hates yoga and astrology. I don’t have to explain anything. So many American women are ignorant about Christianity, even if they’ve been baptized with the Spirit.

It’s like God has a factory where he creates custom-made women for people, and he made this one for me.

We talked and talked about revelations we had received. We talked about preachers we did and did not respect.

While we were texting, I asked if she would mind praying together before our next chat. I said God would let it slide if we didn’t do it a few times, but sooner or later he would lose patience. She said she had been about to ask me the same thing.

The poor woman hung up at two a.m., her time. I had warned her. I said she needed to keep the time in mind, because I was happy to talk to her until morning.

I never got the American “BUT.” You know how that works, if you’re a man.

“I like steak.” “Yes, dear, BUT GMO-free tofu is better for us.”

“I want a Rottweiler.” “I know. BUT a rescue cat with an infected ear is more ethical.”

“I bought lizard boots with silver tips.” “I’m glad you like them, honey, BUT not in public.”

“Christianity is wonderful. It’s my life.” “It is wonderful. BUT Paul had some problems with women, and, of course, we need to correct for toxic masculinity.”

I just want a slave who has sex with me! That’s my problem!

No; I just don’t want to prefer having my liver torn by vultures to having a short conversation with my wife.

One of the great things about marriage, for men, is that we don’t HAVE to do it. You can disagree with me. You can call me an idiot. You can say I’m not a real man like Alan Alda or Chaz Bono. I, on the other hand, can deprive you of my company and my seed forever.

You can sue the daylights out of a man you’ve already married and destroyed. When a wise bachelor sees you and your shoulder-chip coming two blocks off and runs the other way, there isn’t one accursed thing you and your unfertilized eggs can do about it.

Get your BUTs out of my face.

Several years ago, I left Miami. It’s a trashy city full of crass, cruel, materialistic, ignorant people who treat each other badly and don’t know God from Julio Iglesias. I thought I would forget how much I disliked Miami, but the more time I spent in a healthy culture, the more I hated Miami. It looks like it works the same way with women. The more time I spend talking to a woman with a good heart and a heavy dose of the Holy Spirit, the more horrified I am at the pool of women I used to draw from. It makes me want to run up to random men, grab them by the arms, and say, “THIS ISN’T IT. THERE IS A BETTER WAY.”

Fashionable American “men” aren’t prizes, either, though, so it would be a waste of time. They like having someone else to split their Clinique and La Perla budgets with.

No woman is perfect, but there are A women and F women, and there is a spectrum of women in between. If you can get an A, why would you torture yourself with C through F?

The fact that this lady is very beautiful is just icing–very thick icing–on the cake. For men, there are two big problems. The first is women you could never marry in spite of their wonderful personalities, and the second is beautiful women you only think have wonderful personalities because they look good. You always hope to find someone who has a great personality and looks good enough to enjoy touching. A mature man doesn’t ask for physical perfection. You don’t need a 10 to have fun. I was once very happy with a 5. I would be happy with a 7 or even a 6 who cleans up good, as long as the personality was there. It was totally unnecessary for God to connect me with someone whose picture startles me every time I see it.

I feel like I’ve already married this woman. I found her one day ago, and I feel like we’re a couple.

So I’m going to have her Fedexed over here next week, and we’ll get married the day she arrives. Before she’s even out of the box. Then I’ll give her a power of attorney, put all my property in her name, and let her take me skydiving.

No. Why assume a good start means a man is a moron?

I am going to take my time. Anyone can be fooled. I don’t think I’ve been fooled this time, but then that’s what you say when you’ve been fooled. I hope I haven’t fooled her. I hope I’m a good move for her. We’ll pace ourselves. Maybe it’s more accurate to say I’ll pace ourselves.

What I told her was that she should not mistake prudence for lukewarmness.

Am I in love after one day? I am restraining myself and refusing to go there at this time.

I have never seen the blessed life God promises. I have never lived in heaven. I don’t know what a truly good marriage looks like. I don’t know how good life can be. I have known a lot of women who seemed great, but what did I have to compare them to? I knew women who were smart. Women who were kind. Women who were funny. Women who were responsible. I can’t say I’ve known many women who were strongly in line with the Holy Spirit. I’ve known many women who thought they were and were not even close, though.

I don’t know what courting an A is like or how good an A can be. I have to be educated, just as God educated me about living among decent human beings. Can this woman be as good as she seems, or am I letting hope delude me? I can’t answer that in one day.

How good is God willing to be to me? That’s the fundamental question. People always tell me how hard life is, but mine is not. It used to be. The closer I get to God, the easier it is. I have to be careful how much advice I take from people who live in a different reality.

I used to joke about foreign wives. I won’t do that any more. If you’re a man and you’re tired of being clawed at for no reason, you’re dejected because of physical rejection, and you feel you can’t do anything right, maybe you’re not the problem. This country’s women are not in good spiritual health.

That’s all I got. If I buy a ticket to or from Africa, I’ll probably blog it.

Adios, Angry Feminists

It seems like I’m always starting blog posts by saying what a weird day I’m having.

What a weird day I’m having.

Online matchmaking sites are addictive. When someone appealing pops up, it’s rewarding, and when someone who is…the other kind of person…appears, it appeals to morbid curiosity. I can’t resist looking at the sites when I wake up. I did so this morning.

I had a message saying someone had viewed my profile. I went to look at her, expecting to see the aftermath of a tornado in a manure-processing plant. Instead, I saw one of the most beautiful faces I had ever seen. For a long time, I stared at her. Then I went to another page. Then I went back and stared.

Great. One more babe who would pass me by.

I looked at her info anyway. Lawyer. God-fearing. Wants to fulfill her purpose for Jesus. A man who prays in tongues would be a plus.

Arrghh. She was exactly what I wanted.

Looking for men younger than I am.

Double arrghh. Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?

Okay. I was used to this. I did not make any effort to contact her. I don’t want to be a creepy old hair-sniffer like certain people who work in the Oval Office. I won’t name a name.

Then a notification popped up. She had sent me a “flirt.”

That had to be wrong.

Of course, I responded. I have faith in God, and highly improbable things happen in his kingdom. I won’t rule anything out. No matter how low my expectations are.

I couldn’t think of anything clever to say, so I just told her she was very beautiful and that I liked what she had said about God. She said my profile was awesome. “Awesome.” There was more detail than that, but I prefer to focus on “awesome.”

A couple of hours later, we were video-chatting on WhatsApp.

I never use WhatsApp unless my realtor contacts me. I would never, ever use it to talk to someone I met on a matchmaking site, because it’s where all the scammers take people. I would never do that.

Well. Maybe this once.

I hate video chatting, which is why I have never done it before. But she initiated the call, and video was enabled.

What can I say about the call? It was like talking to myself, except I’m not a gorgeous woman. Prayer in tongues is a big deal to her. She understands that it builds faith and brings revelation. She sees the many veiled references to it in the Old Testament. She has no interest in the money gospel, unlike many Africans.

She believes in having a husband, not a wife. Unlike most American women. She didn’t take offense at everything I said. She didn’t condescend. She didn’t try to correct me. This is a bizarre experience for an American man. I told her the mention of the word “submissive” makes most American women angry. I said men who wanted Biblical marriages were commonly accused of wanting slaves or appliances that had sex. She said African women didn’t see themselves that way.

She’s smart. She said law school was easy. It looks like she comes from a smart family. Her cousin is an astrophysicist.

I told her I was amazed by her looks, and she did something no American black woman would ever do. She sent me a photo of herself without a wig. If you don’t know American black women, you don’t understand the wig. I’m pretty sure they wear them into surgery.

A stunning woman without a wig still looks stunning, so I’m not sure what the photo was for.

After a long talk, I gave her my email address, and she sent an email immediately. She told me her full name. I sent an email with my first name. Then I realized I had forgotten to give her my last name, and I sent another email. I said I didn’t want to blow up her inbox. People can be clingy when you first meet them. She said I could send her a million emails a day, 24/7.

I guess things went well, then!

After that, we went our separate ways and agreed to talk tomorrow.

Yeah, right. We’re still texting on WhatsApp. She asked about children! We already have little insider jokes no one else will get.

I am not drawing conclusions or looking at wedding rings online. I am not insane. But I’m not assuming the worst, either. This lady is marvelous. Even if nothing happens, I will still want to know her. People like her are rare. I told her it was as though I had been digging through horse manure and a ruby had fallen out.

Of course, this will absolutely ruin me for anyone who comes later.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to top this post. This is the weird day to end all days.

If this is what it looks like, it has to be the hand of God. I refuse to chase women no matter how old I get, because I believe only God makes matches that work. Maybe this is what it looks like. If not, back to the usual, which is not bad at all.

I Hate Retaking the Same Culinary Real Estate

I can’t figure out what happened to my fried chicken skills. The more I try to improve my chicken, the worse it gets.

Years ago, I wrote a recipe for spicy fried chicken. I wanted something better than Popeye’s. I saved a blog post in which I raved about the results. I said I had succeeded.

Was I wrong? I don’t see how that could happen. How can you be wrong about whether fried chicken is good? I have overestimated the quality of my food from time to time, but not when it comes to things this obvious.

Yesterday I gave chicken another shot. I cut way back on the seasoning I put in the flour, I marinated it in orange juice and hot sauce, and I fried it in peanut oil with a little olive oil added because I had overestimated my peanut oil stash.

I fried the chicken at the correct temperature. I drained it the way Bon Appetit says to, on a wire rack instead of paper towels. The breading came out oil-soaked and heavy.

Now I have about three-fourths of a chicken in the fridge, and I don’t really want to eat it.

I’m looking at my old recipe. I see some things I’m not doing now. First of all, my last batch of chicken was made using eggs to hold the flour on. Paula Deen recommends this. My old recipe and Gordon Ramsay say to use buttermilk and no eggs.

I guess Gordon Ramsay knows a couple of things. You can’t get Michelin stars purely through self-promotion, unless maybe he found a way to bribe Michelin’s anonymous judges. Maybe I should believe him.

I’ve seen Ramsay serve steak sliced, which is idiotic. That concerns me. Foodies are all convinced that steak should be served lukewarm and cut up just like mommy used to do. Ramsay may be a great chef, but he is also a foodie.

I don’t know whether Paula Deen can cook or not. She posted a chicken-frying video, and I watched it. She guessed about a lot of things. Guessed! After cooking professionally for what? Fifty years? And she sells fried chicken in her restaurant. How can she not know everything by now? If I went into her restaurant and trained as a cook for one hour, I would leave knowing the entire process. It’s not like studying for the MCAT’s.

I also made some bad mashed potatoes. I think my mistake was using a ricer. I used to make phenomenal mashed potatoes, and I used a masher and a mixer. People say not to use a mixer, because it makes potatoes gummy. That’s true, if you overdo it. You don’t have to overdo it, though.

Progress is not always progress.

I think I’m going to start buying the smallest amounts of chicken I can find, so I can experiment without wasting money and destroying the kitchen. It’s silly to cut up an entire bird when you’re not sure what will happen. I need to go back and try my old recipe.

My original recipe calls for frying the chicken in beef fat, the way KFC used to. When is America going to get over its ridiculous phobia of fat? Beef fat makes incredible chicken, not to mention French fries. McDonald’s used to dump 50-pound blocks of fat in its fryers. Then the food Nazis put an end to it.

At least they haven’t put an end to meat. They will, though. Count on it. Dairy products will also be canceled. Then cattle will go extinct.

Grocery stores will sell me fat if I ask for it. I don’t know if I want to go through the hassle of buying and rendering it, though. I don’t want to go back to being a hard core cooking hobbyist. I just want to be able to make a few things well.

I am still fooling around with online dating. My perception of the whole business keeps changing.

I already knew there were big differences between black women in Africa and America, and talking to them online has shown me how big the divide is. For one thing, African women are much more likely to admire Republican presidents. Here in the US, the Democrats poisoned blacks with the War on Poverty. It led to the destruction of the black family. It addicted generations to handouts and caused the majority of black Americans to develop a victim mentality based in racism and Marxism. Paradoxically, most American blacks came to view the party that was destroying them as its messiah. It seems things are different in Africa.

One lady I talked to called President Trump “his Excellency,” which I thought was funny. Another one says she liked the bit in my profile where I said the Democratic Party worked for Satan.

My profile makes it very clear I want nothing to do with non-Christians and leftists, and nearly all the women I hear from are from Africa. I have only heard from one American lady who had any interest in prayer in tongues or any knowledge of prophecy. I thought I was hearing from Africans because the sites I was using were full of scammers and poor people desperate to contact Americans, but that is not the case. There are many, many American women on the sites. They view my profile and hit the road. One of the sites tells me when anyone looks me over, so I know what’s happening.

Yesterday I heard from two young ladies who are all about prayer in tongues. One is in Kenya, and one is in Ghana. They are smart, serious women. Most women on dating sites have nearly nothing to say. “I like the beach.” “Animal lover.” “I love life and laughter.” Intelligent girls stand out. The contrast is stark.

Women tend to be ordinary (tautology), and ordinary women believe they need to convince men they agree with them about everything. They hide their own thoughts and feelings until the ring goes on. They don’t like to express their views. They try to find out what you think, and then they parrot it back. The goal isn’t to find someone who is compatible. It’s to put a figurine on a wedding cake and get money and kids.

When a woman says what she thinks or feels, it’s somewhat shocking, because it’s unusual. Generally, you can tell when she’s sincere, because she can back up what she says. A phony can’t do that. Anyone can say, “I’m conservative,” for example, but ask them why, and leftists can’t explain. When one woman proves she’s not playing, it makes you wonder why the rest don’t try it.

It’s not hard to tell when a woman just wants to immigrate. Everything you say is wonderful. You are the most handsome man on earth. All she wants is to sit at your feet and admire you.

I can’t be sure, but it seems like African women are more interested in playing a support role. The very idea is offensive to most American women. In America, you’re not “living your best life” unless both spouses have busy careers and the kids are raised by day-care workers or illegal alien nannies.

One thing that seems to unite black women in Africa and America is their lack of faith in their default dating pool. There is a big cultural difference between the sexes. You can see it reflected in the rates of educational accomplishments. In America, black women get about twice as many college degrees as black men, and I suppose the situation is similar in Africa. Many profiles I look at specifically exclude black men and state that the women are looking for white husbands.

White husbands are generally a mess, but it appears that we could be worse.

I’ve known a fair number of black women. Seems like stories of rape by family members and other black men are very common. The only white woman I know who claims to have been raped is a member of my own family, who makes things up as the mood strikes. I know of three men she has accused falsely. Activists claim well over half of black women have been sexually abused. They also say black women are three times more likely to be murdered, and over 90% of them know their killers. Black women are at a higher risk of being murdered than anyone else in America, and black men are doing nearly all of the killing.

I can see why I’m getting as much attention as I am.

One of the young ladies I talked to yesterday is in a bad situation. Her mother has meningioma, and the young lady has to take care of her alone. This includes things like changing diapers. The young lady is very small and fine-boned. I don’t know how she does it.

She lives in a rural area. I can tell she’s poor. She’s smart, but her English needs work.

I feel bad for her. I don’t think the differences between us would permit anything beyond friendship, but I wish I could put her in a guest house in my yard. She is on a website where useless men are trying to prey on her, her marital opportunities don’t look good at all, and yet she had the courage to contact me and risk rejection.

She hates the money gospel even though she needs money. She knows submission to God is what counts. She says other Christians are brainwashed.

I will have to disappoint her. I don’t look forward to it. Maybe we can stay in touch, and I can be of some help to her.

The other one is also smart, and she knows it. She says she is different from the others and that I will know it when I talk to her. She says she was excited when I said I could tell she was not like most women. I was excited, too. When you do online dating, it’s like you’re sifting through a mountain of rabbit poops, and every so often, you find a pearl.

I wish I could buy a big farm and put all the unappreciated women on it. Isn’t that what Jesus does, though? He lives in a world full of grass, trees, and rivers, and in that world, he has built homes for all of us; for the world’s rejects.

I suppose being an American and talking to women from backward countries is a lot like being God and talking to people on earth. And we will marry up, not down. It makes sense for women from places like Africa to marry men from the US.

The Bible is full of stories of women who married up. Sarah. Rebecca. Rachel. Solomon’s wives. Ruth. Esther. Who married down? Abigail. Her second husband had to kill her first husband, whose name meant “fool” in Hebrew.

Many people think men should marry up. That’s insane. It’s matriarchal. It’s for women who want to be their husbands’ mommies. It’s like going to war and putting a green buck private in charge of a division. Where do people get stupid ideas like that? My mother married down. It ended badly.

The bride of Christ should be a pattern for all other brides. We’re going to Jesus. He’s not coming to us. Forget this place. Like the online profiles say, I am willing to relocate.

These are my views on online dating today. I don’t know how they’ll change by the end of the week.

I Now Pronounce you Man and Mugu

Last night I watched not one but two TV segments about West African dating scammers.

The first segment was created by ABC News in Australia. They sent a reporter to Malaysia and Africa to look into dating fraud. It was pretty disgusting. The second segment was from 60 Minutes in Australia. It was no better.

The ABC reporter went into an Internet cafe, and there were no women there. The place was full of young men pretending to be interested in romance, and many of their victims were also male. What’s worse? Finding out you sent $2000 to a criminal after having cybersex and appearing naked on your webcam, and knowing the video will probably be passed around for laughs for the next 10 years, or knowing the criminal watching you get down with your own bad self is a man?

Ewwwwww.

The criminals agreed to talk to the reporter. This was one of the amazing aspects of the story. They were sociopaths. They felt no guilt over the way they tortured and robbed people.

One of them had a copy of Napoleon Hill’s book in his tiny apartment. He had written notes about his plans for the money he stole. He thinks he’s going to be a world-famous rapper. Sure. That will go well. Glad the retirement money of numerous aging dupes won’t be wasted on a fatuous pipe dream.

He and his buddy said what they did was right because white people had mistreated their ancestors. Does that sound at all familiar? The reparations scam isn’t limited to American leftists. All of Satan’s children, everywhere, want reparations. They’re cursed because they’re evil, and they blame people who are blessed because they fear God.

There is no such thing as white privilege. There is only Judeo-Christian privilege.

The CBS reporter interviewed an incredible woman. She was 53, but she appeared to be around 65. She had given something like 110,000 Australian dollars to a person she thought was a tall, strapping American businessman with a collection of impressive photos.

You feel sorry for her, right? I don’t. Her family was exasperated with her. They knew who would end up supporting her. They told her she was being robbed, and she didn’t listen because she thought a big, handsome man with everything in the world going for him was interested in sexual conversations with a very unattractive old lady carrying maybe 60 extra pounds. She was impervious to reason. She knew she was wrong, but she didn’t care enough about herself or her family to admit it.

A woman who somehow makes money exposing online fraud got together with her, and along with ABC and law enforcement, she proved her Fabio was really a fat African punk who spent her money on champagne and expensive ghetto basketball shoes.

Guess what she did after the sting? She found herself another unlikely profile and got back to work. Unbelievably, she had to be slapped with reality a second time. She is probably still trolling for scammers, unless her family has refused to pay her ISP fees.

One of the news videos showed a whole room full of “victims.” I’m not sure the word “victim” applies. I don’t mean to be cruel, but one look at this bunch, and I knew they were never going to appeal to anyone who was even a little bit attractive. They had to know they were being taken. Sometimes you have to admit the truth and accept what you are. They weren’t having it. Not until they lost their money.

They interviewed a man who was old, bald, on oxygen, and missing two lower incisors. He gave scammers $400,000. He also agreed to go through customs carrying “special chemicals for cleaning money.” He was really carrying cocaine. The authorities took issue. He ended up having to hire a defense lawyer.

A Mexican lady also got caught carrying drugs, and she was sentenced to death in Malaysia.

How does someone gullible enough to fall for West African scammers get $400,000 in the first place?

I have dealt with scammers for years. I used to torment them as punishment, as many readers know. It never occurred to me to send one money. They’re always extremely obvious, if not in the first communication, shortly thereafter. Their English is bad and instantly recognizable as African. They generally say the same stupid things. You don’t have to be a genius to see what they are. Who are these people who believe them and send them not just a little money, but everything they have?

Here’s something really awful: the scammers keep “sucker lists.” Suckers are called “mugus.” If you’re so lacking in common sense you swallow their lies, they put you on their lists and sell your contact information to other scammers.

Now here is the weird part. I signed up for a dating site, a much-younger African lady descended on me, and she turned out to be exactly what she said she was. She looked nice. She was an extremely serious charismatic Christian. She said, “You are the man of my dreams,” not because she pretended to find me sexy but because of my religious beliefs.

I vetted her by looking up her social accounts without telling her. I found years-old Twitter posts and Youtube videos. She was the real thing. An attractive young woman from Africa really did reach out to an older man.

It went nowhere because she was caught up in the prosperity gospel and also wanted to be the husband, teaching me doctrine as though I were 12 years old. Still, she was a very near miss, right off the bat. How often does that happen?

Sometimes Satan sends us highly customized missiles. I can’t tell you how impressed I was with this one. She looked like a gift from God; the makings of a testimony so good no one would believe it. Unfortunately for Satan, the bomb payload was too obvious and too great. When you know what you want, things like lust and loneliness won’t drive you to swallow bait. Neither will a desire to believe God has worked a powerful miracle for you. I didn’t get a miracle. I got a Trojan horse.

Sometimes a little voice says, “You will never get another chance.” That’s irrelevant. I don’t care. The wrong mate is the wrong mate.

I have compromised before. I couldn’t make myself do it again if I wanted to. It’s not in me any more.

I was not a fool, the woman was legitimate, and I got one of the best offers anyone has ever gotten in the history of online dating interactions with Africans. I am not like the people in the news video, who have to sit in classrooms and take classes in order to avoid further predation. Nonetheless, I also got a negative outcome and had my time wasted.

It wasn’t much time. Three days. But it was irritating to have the bait waved at me. I would rather all of the online women had turned out to be patently unsuitable.

Today I’m going down message lists, telling women nothing is going to happen. Some are very pretty, and they may actually be women. They won’t work out. They have nothing to say. Imagine a marriage in which your wife never says anything except, “Okay, dear,” and, “That is very interesting.”

There is another big problem on interracial sites: functional illiteracy. I don’t just mean in Africa. Profiles of American black women, and their messages, are full of terrible spelling and grammar errors. Many do not write as well as first-graders. You may be a good Christian woman. You may be pretty. It doesn’t matter. If you write things like, “I wants my man love me,” in your online communications, what future can you have with a normal adult?

It’s terrible to see. It’s not rare. It’s very, very common.

How can a woman reach the age of 30, in the United States of America, with free schooling, and not be literate? There is no excuse. You can blame your parents for a lot of things when you’re young, but when you’re an adult, you have to address your own issues.

I would say you have to throw out a lot of dirt when you’re digging for a diamond, but I don’t think that’s true for people who are close to God. I believe he pairs people up, the way he always has. Either something will happen, or it’s not his will.

I don’t think law enforcement will ever make much of a dent in the scamming. The people being scammed are too determined. I believe most of them know what’s happening. If you lover tells you his webcam is broken for three straight months, after you’ve sent him several thousand dollars, you know he’s a crook. Some people were born to die in debt, and all the cops in the world can’t save them from themselves.

Dr. Seuss and my Continued Adventures in Online Dating

Someone pray for God to help me not to read the news. Satan’s kids have declared Dr. Seuss a dangerous racist, and he has been removed from a recommended reading list by Satan’s older brother, Hair-Sniffin’ Joe.

I STILL have two Dr. Seuss books, and I used to have a pair of One Fish Two Fish boxer shorts. What has become of the world?

I’m not saying Dr. Seuss was perfect. He taught generations of kids the Grinch, a quasi-hominid notable for its resemblance to Elizabeth Warren, was Jesus Christ. Actually, that’s big plus from the left’s point of view. They hate Jesus Christ even more than they hate Donald Trump. But his books did not promote racism or any other ism. Satan has done a marvelous job, turning mainstream Americans into bona fide lunatics, and you have to wonder who they will go after next.

If you want to go after someone, go after anyone who participated in a Grinch remake. Those people are cultural vandals.

It’s fitting that I use the word “vandals.” Weren’t the Vandals part of the horde that dismantled Rome and sent the world into the Dark Ages?

I don’t know. I didn’t major in history. I got a real degree in a subject you can use to get a job other than driving for Uber.

If you’re a history major, I’m not putting you down. I’m putting down the thing to which you devoted four years of your life and a big chunk of your parents’ life savings. You can get even the next time you bus my table at Red Lobster.

Perhaps we can find some common ground. We all look down on drama and communications majors (i.e. “journalists”).

“I paid $400,000 so you could do WHAT?”

Think about that. Parents could just give their kids the money in trust, in interest-bearing accounts. Much better idea.

A friend of mine says she’s not pushing her kids to go to college. Can’t argue. You need college for some things, but if you want to open a business and make real money, you should start in your teens. I told her this: they need to know the way to make money isn’t to be the guy who drives around in the truck, doing the work. Start out as that guy, buy more trucks, and send other people out to drive around while you get paid for their work.

God bless capitalism. There’s an ism I can get behind. To paraphrase the words of Chico Escuela, capitalism beeng berry berry goog to me; sank you berry moach.

If the Chico Escuela reference seems racist to you, don’t fret. Here’s another Garrett Morris performance which is more in line with the values of the cancel kids. In case you can’t here, he’s singing, “Gonna get me a shotgun, kill all the whiteys I see.” Sometimes I find myself singing this song in private moments.

Think how many tree-trimming trucks you could buy for $400,000.

Today is a slow day. I continue to receive applications from too-young alleged women in Africa on dating sites. I decided to delete all communications with my rejects. You have to clear the table before being served your next course. It’s surprisingly hard to delete Yahoo contacts. Yahoo makes people your contacts without warning you.

As mentioned previously, I exchanged a number of emails from a Kenyan lady. I “archived” her emails and my responses. Then I deleted them. Then I deleted them from the trash bin. Then I searched to make sure I had deleted them. Yahoo wouldn’t give up without a fight. It told me she was one of my “Top Contacts.”

I found out how hard it is to delete a Top Contact. You have to find them in your list of ALL contacts. You can’t delete them from your Top Contact list. And Internet people say Yahoo sends them emails to let them know they’ve been deleted. Ouch. That’s entirely unnecessary.

I think she and the others are completely gone from my throwaway Yahoo account. Don’t hold me to that.

I went to the dating sites and conducted a purge of non-viables. The Kenyan lady would not disappear. The site kept throwing her at me. She had viewed me! I had viewed her! I had favorited her! She had sent me a flirt! Then there was a fairly lengthy text exchange on the site.

I tried to get rid of this stuff, and it kept popping up. I went nuclear. I blocked her. She still popped up until I closed and reopened my browswer.

I wonder if women are going through this with me. Will I get charged with stalking because the Internet won’t let them out of my life?

Women really, really hate each other, and many a woman insists on pretending her current man has never been interested in anyone else. If God blesses me with someone, I don’t want her rooting through my old emails and having an estrogen conniption.

Somewhere out there, I guarantee you, there is a woman demanding that a man tell her who this tramp Siri is.

A person claiming to be a tall, gorgeous young woman from California contacted me a while back. I assumed it was some kind of error. Eventually, we got around to talking. Things went very slowly. Then it happened. Confirmation came. She asked for my name and number so she could text me. This was after maybe 4 online texts.

Scammers always try to drag you off the website so they’ll be outside the site’s jurisdiction.

I decided to give her both barrels. I said I only used the site, and I said I had learned that African scammers tried to take people elsewhere, notably Google Hangouts. Then I casually mentioned what I had learned about them. I said they were generally men, and I said some unflattering things about what they no doubt wanted other men to do to them.

Haven’t heard from her since.

I found a neat story about the scammers. They’re called “cafe boys” and “browsers” in their own nations. They’re extremely gross. They have sexual chats with lonely men. They say their webcams aren’t working, but they send dirty videos of the women they claim to be. The men send them money for plane tickets and so on. Eventually, the victims, called “clients,” get frustrated and insist on up-to-date photographs or videos. Then it’s time to move on.

I don’t think these boys realize they’re homosexuals. They think they’re playing a game. If you can stand to have sex chats with other men, and you look at their nude pictures and videos and try to give them satisfaction, you are a sodomite. No two ways about it.

Homosexuality is huge in Africa. It’s why AIDS was a plague in Africa and a small problem in America. Men don’t get AIDS from women. Magic Johnson is a homosexual. Either that, or he used to shoot up. Judging by his flaming-gay son, I would rule heroin out.

An Australian network did a documentary on the cafe boys, and I found it on Youtube. I plan to watch it today. It should be fascinating.

They go to demon worshipers and have them curse their victims. How about that? The documentary shows a lady in a crazy voodoo getup, performing ceremonies. The boys bring her pictures and so on. If you’ve been taken by one of these characters, you may be under weird voodoo curses, and if you’re not close to God, they may work.

They are clearly working on a lot of Australian men.

I wonder if my two profile pictures have been placed on this lady’s table and whether she has waved chicken feet at them and spat cheap liquor on them. Bad for her if she has. You can’t curse me, but if you try, you will curse yourself and your family.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that black people’s problems are caused mainly by witchcraft. The more I learn about black culture, including things the press, academics, and black people hide from us, the more amazed I am at the pervasiveness of witchcraft.

When Muddy Waters sang that he had a mojo hand and little John the conqueror root, he wasn’t kidding. He really had those things.

I saw a video by Thomas Sowell, in which he utterly crushed the claim that black people do poorly because of slavery. Among other things, he pointed out that the majority of black American kids in about 1960 grew up in two-parent homes. BOOM. There goes the myth that slavery killed black marriage. LBJ killed it. He also talked about the many, many white slaves who were held in America. Asians were also enslaved here. Only blacks continued to live cursed lives a century later. There has to be a reason, and slavery isn’t it.

It’s remarkable that I ended up talking to an African woman who was a serious Christian and who turned out to be completely legitimate in every way. I had proof, six ways from Sunday. Maybe she’s the only one.

It’s too bad she was a decoy and a trap, totally unsuitable for a real Christian man.

Maybe she’ll escape the prosperity gospel some day, and God will pair her up with somebody.

It’s very slow here. I keep feeling like I’m just waiting to be taken away. Guess I’ll go outside and finish my latest welding project. It will be satisfying to unite things successfully.

Next!

It looks like my African dating saga is over, at least with regard to one lady.

Yesterday I sent a short, somewhat nonresponsive email to the Kenyan lady I had been talking to, and it ended with language like, “I hope God gives you a pleasant and fulfilling marriage.” It’s pretty obvious what a sentence like that means. I also said I hoped I had not offended her.

She responded and said I had not offended her, although I’m pretty sure I did. Then she threw in another somewhat lengthy Bible lesson. Lengthy considering the context, which was me, saying goodbye. I didn’t pay any attention to it. I have realized that anything I say to this woman will elicit a Bible lesson.

Imagine a marriage like that. “I think I’ll have some pie.” “Leviticus 86:43 says the man who eateth pie shall want in the time of harvest!”

My final offering: “Very good. No hard feelings, then.” That was the entire email. I don’t know what she can do with that. Maybe she’s done, or maybe she’ll send a scripture on resentment and unforgiveness. “Hard feelings are evil, but I am the woman, and I knew it first! And I have scripture!”

She made me think about the old-wineskin metaphor. Jesus said you can’t put new wine in an old wineskin because it will burst. I don’t know how that works, having little experience with wineskins, but the meaning is obvious. He also said that if you give new wine to people who are used to old wine, they’ll reject it at first and say the old wine is better.

My experience with her was remarkable. It was like trying to talk into a fire hose with the valve open. Everything I said was deflected back at me, and I was impacted by a gushing torrent of unhelpful, inapt words.

There is absolutely nothing you can do for a woman like that. You get old, you learn from life’s hard knocks and from your education and other experiences. You spend years communicating with God, and he teaches you a lot. Then you meet someone decades younger, and not one speck of it is helpful to her because she won’t receive it. Instead, she wants you to to eat your own vomit. She wants you to go back to the hateful poison it took you so long to expel from your life.

So what are you there for? What is your purpose? To be her disciple and her son. To sit back and watch her steer the boat up on the rocks every single day. That’s your purpose.

“I want to submit to you, as long as you do what I tell you.”

I’ve had many dreams in which my dad steered his boat onto rocks or dry ground. Actually, I’ve been with him in real life when he did that, maybe 5 times. I never did it once, although I did get into some water that was shallower than it should have been. I kicked up some mud.

I admit, I was at the wheel when he caused our worst grounding. We hit Mama Rhoda, which is a big rock on the way into Chub Cay. I kept telling him it looked like there was a reef in front of us, and he yelled and told me to keep going. That’s not on me.

In dreams, my dad usually represents misguided church leaders. Interesting. This woman is guided by such people.

Jonah’s ship was spared because the crew threw a rebel overboard, and Paul’s crew was saved because he was aboard. The ark was a ship, and the captain and builder was the only good man on earth. Noah was the only reason God protected the ark. Maybe the metaphor goes deep, not just in my dreams, but in the Bible. Jude says people like the prosperity preachers are “reefs” at our feasts. The KJV says “spots,” but it really means “reefs.” A reef is a hidden obstacle you run up onto while you think you’re going the right way. This lady and her friends are reefs to me.

I was not tactful with her. Thank God for that. She kept telling me about Kenneth Copeland, the rattlesnake-faced emperor of all idiots, and instead of saying, “Okay; let me think about that while I curry your approval,” I told her I cursed prosperity minstries regularly and believed God blessed me for doing it. What if I had been tactful? I might be on Skype with her every day, talking about plane fares and immigration, waiting for the day when we had our inevitable confrontation about the filthiness of Copeland and Jerry Savelle and the other liars.

The rattlesnake-faced emperor of all idiots.

She has two kids somewhere. I know nothing about them, because she has told me nothing. Her profile says they don’t live with her. Maybe her ex-boyfriend is a Muslim and got automatic custody. She had them out of wedlock, and she used to be a Muslim. Anyway, imagine the difficulty of bringing teenagers to the US, supporting them, and trying to get along with them.

I thought her near-silence about the kids and the odd custody arrangements were red flags, but I don’t know anything about Kenya. Maybe kids are like luggage there. Maybe they’re in boarding school and they are expected to do whatever she tells them.

Right now I’m back to fielding messages from young, unrealistically gorgeous (and often not) African women, African women who pretend to be American, African men who pretend to be women, unattractive American women, and a couple of attractive American women who just don’t have much to say. It’s almost like talking to a glass of water. I feel bad for them, but what can you do? You can’t tell someone to start having a personality.

It’s kind of funny that I ended up talking to a woman who adores prosperity preachers and thinks anyone who criticizes them is working for Satan. I hate and despise the prosperity gospel. I have distinguished myself by attacking it and exposing its pimps publicly, over and over. I am the last person on earth who could ever go back to it. I feel like this woman was tailor-made for me, to discourage me.

It’s as if I were a runaway slave, living in a nice house in Illinois or Pennsylvania, and a current slave were trying to coax me to join her and let her nice white master whip me and keep me in a too-familiar hovel with a dirt floor. I could also be compared to an escaped convict. “The warden loves us and knows what’s best for us. Come back, and your rebellion will be forgiven.”

Being abused every day of your life is terrible, but there is something much worse: escaping and then being returned to it. This woman has no idea what she was asking.

Here I was, trying to free her from the same misery I endured, and she wanted no part of it and said the abolitionists were working for Satan.

I’m not surprised by any of this. It’s exactly what I expect from prosperity slaves. The prosperity movement is a cult, and cult members are fiercely loyal to the people who destroy them.

It’s exactly what Jesus went through. I don’t mean that I’m being crucified, obviously. Just that I was punished, on Satan’s orders, for trying to help someone in the grip of Satanic doctrine. Jesus was tortured to death by the people he was trying to rescue. The Jews who rejected him beat him and had him murdered. The Romans did their bidding. He wanted to save all of them. Many of them are blazing and shrieking in hell right now, unless it’s true that Jesus was able to deliver damned souls while he was in hell, and his tormentors repented.

It’s wonderful, writing about these things. Romantic opportunities destroy clear thinking. The more you write about someone who seems to have potential, the better you will understand them. It undoes gaslighting and prevents catastrophe.

When I was in my teens, I thought nearly any good-looking girl who was nice to me might be my big chance. That’s pathetic, but then so was I. My parents taught me nothing at all about life, and you can’t figure everything out on your own. Fatherlessness is a huge problem, even for people whose fathers live with them. Now I’m old, God has taught me a lot, and I’m pretty good at identifying and rejecting the wooden nickels.

I was afraid I was making this lady sound like a horror story, and I thought I should list her good qualities again. She’s a serious Christian. She’s successful. She has great intentions. She wants to help people. She’s reasonably attractive. I thought I should list those things. But maybe she really is a horror story, and I don’t want to say so because I like her and sympathize with her.

If landmines weren’t buried, nobody would step on them.

A total inability to listen, and a steely determination to tell a husband what to think and do, added to a delusion that one is submissive and humble, combine to form a hazard comparable to the spike-filled pits of the Viet Cong.

Traps can be very pretty, indeed.

I have no idea what will come next. Maybe someone will appear and turn out to be a gift from God, or maybe I’ll keep rejecting duds, get even older, and die alone. In any case, I didn’t take the free candy or get in the van this time around.

Not my Party

I feel like writing some more.

A day or two ago, I read a snotty comment from a leftist. I think it was on a news site. It referred to a golden calf and Donald Trump. It sounded like figurative language.

I eventually checked Google, and guess what? There really is a Trump idol. A sculptor named Zegan made it. It’s made from plastic, but the outer surface is treated to look like gold. In its left hand, it holds a magic wand, which is a symbol of occult power. He took it to CPAC.

All in good fun, right? Maybe not.

For quite some time, I’ve been complaining about conservatives worshiping Trump. Our country is suffering various plagues and setbacks, we need to be on our knees repenting, and instead, some conservatives are doing the wrong thing: treating an old casino owner as though he were Jesus Christ.

Our problems are caused by America’s pride and hatred of God. Only repentance and prayer will fix things, but there is no national repentance movement. None. Prominent preachers, and in America that means money preachers, have a lot of time to blame leftists but not much to tell people to repent. Why? Because they’re pimps and whores. They want our money. Talk of repentance and confession reduces donations. They tell us whatever loosens our purse strings.

CPAC belongs to worldly people. Maybe some pretend to be Christians, but they serve the devil just like leftist politics junkies. I suspect the presence of the statue is an unintended confession. Satan probably inspired the sculptor, and the people who agreed to display the statue are just puppets Satan used to make his little joke. It’s his way of saying, “This is why you lost. Keep up the good work.”

The statue holds a document, and the words “We the People” can be seen on the top, suggesting the document is the Constitution. “We the people” is an interesting phrase. The Antichrist will be a political leader, and he will lead through the will of the mob, also known as the people. He will shape the desires and beliefs of the mob. He has already done it through Metoo, BLM, and Antifa, as well as godless right-wing militias.

The Constitution is a leftist document. Democracy, including the kind we have as a republic, is a leftist institution that comes from pagan, sodomy-crazed Greece, not Yahweh-worshiping Israel. When America rebelled against England, leftists like George Washington battled conservatives and drove them out. Conservatives fought for the British. They supported kings they believed were anointed by God.

The plastic Constitution in the idol’s hand seems to be an announcement of allegiance to the Antichrist.

Trump’s biggest problem is pride. “I did this.” “I did that.” I’m the best.” “No one else could have done this.” God hates pride. He fights the proud. Trump surrounded himself with idiots like Paula White, and they told him what he wanted to hear, so he didn’t get far in his battle with pride. He has said a couple of things suggesting he knows humility is important, but that’s about it.

The objects we surround ourselves are important. Spirits associate themselves with them. If you have a good luck charm, a work of art from a pagan religion, a Harry Potter book, or some other similar item of contraband, spirits that hate you may have legitimate claims to places in your life, and God may respect those claims.

The Trump idol should never have been created, let alone endorsed by deluded man-worshipers who think Trump is going to come back and save us.

Does Trump know any of this? No. Paula White is a money whore. She’s not going to go to him and tell him to give up pride. Neither are any of the other Mammonites he has invited to the White House. The only way Trump can learn the truth is to be around people who aren’t whores, to pray in the Spirit, and to hear from God. The whores stick to him like a protective layer of ticks.

What do you do when there are only two parties, one has belonged to Satan for a long time, and the other is joining him? Where do you run? It’s like losing America, which used to be the world’s lifeboat for Christians. There is nowhere else to go.

Looks like another sign that the rapture is nearly here.

It can’t happen soon enough for me. Let it happen today. I keep praying for God to bring it. I am done with this place. I feel like I’m loitering in a bus station, waiting for an overdue ride.

The Paradoxical Disappointment of Events you Fully Expect

Sometimes I think about immortality. In movies, people envy immortal characters. That’s because they don’t know what immortality on this corrupt earth would be like. Think how bored you would get, seeing the same predictable things happen over and over. The older you get, unless you’re stupid, the more predictable other people become.

It’s barely past 9:30 a.m., and my peace has already been disrupted by the lady in Kenya. As I predicted, she sent me three more emails. She is not giving up.

Al Bundy said this: “Don’t try to understand women. Women understand women, and they hate each other.” Psychologists actually agree with Al to a great extent. You can look that up. I did. I’m sure they blame men, but I didn’t read enough to find out, because psychologists are fools.

Anyway, I don’t believe women are that hard to understand. You just have to discard everything feminism says and look to the past. Also, believe what experience and your own eyes tell you, no matter how disturbing it is. You have to be willing to discard the fatuous modern characterization of women as enlightened martyrs and teachers and accept the obvious negatives along with the positives.

I knew this lady would not give up.

I don’t think she has been reading my emails. I think she just thinks of them as prompts that motivate her to respond with her own unrelated thoughts she learned from other men. Preachers, I mean. Pulpit pimps who would gladly see her die in the street with her savings in their corporate accounts.

She believes Jesus warned her about people like me, who will harm the church by going after the “anointed,” meaning famous preachers. At the same time, she is trying desperately to change me so she can marry me. In my last post, I said women were better at cognitive dissonance than men. Now you see your proof.

“I belong to God.” “I must have a godly man.” “I believe you are the enemy of the church.” “I want to marry you.”

You can’t make those things fit together.

“I believe in submitting to my husband.” “I believe the man has to be the leader and priest of the house.” “I will tell you my doctrine and correct yours, and then we can get married.”

??????

In her latest round of emails, she said I was speaking doctrine I had learned somewhere, and that she was speaking the truth from the Bible. The exact opposite is true.

She seems to think I come from some weird denomination that taught me what I know. The truth is that I come from her own denomination. I come from the Mammon denomination. I used to believe the TV stars she believes. I rejected their nonsense. She, on the other hand, teaches it as though it were God’s word, using cherry-picked scriptures the TV stars have turned into weapons to defend greed and human trafficking.

I told her some brutal truths.

I said women get attached and fall in love too fast. I asked her why she would have anything to do with a man she thought was part of a Satanic attack on the holy men of TV. I didn’t call them “holy men of TV.” I said “the church.” I said I was not the person she thought I was, but nonetheless, it asked why she would want that kind of person.

I said women let emotion make them work to make unsuitable men fit into their wedding-picture dreams, more or less.

I also told her I was not in love with her. I said I was not trying to win her over. I said there were over three billion women on the planet, and if God wanted me to have one, he would make it happen. I said I didn’t care if I died alone as long as I had him. I said I just wanted to give her helpful advice. Optimistic, I know. It borders on a violation of my principles. I will not keep it up, barring a highly unlikely turn of events.

I said it looked like there was no hope for us, although only God knew.

This is leadership. Betas don’t say things like this. It’s not what I would have said when I was 15, but then my father was not a father. I had no one to teach me, unless teaching me error counts. I was raised like a ghetto child, apart from the nice house and good food.

I was saying these things to a wonderful, attractive Christian woman I liked. A woman who seemed like a rarity. I am talking to a bunch of women, and none come close to equaling her.

I don’t care. I’m not desperate. Cognitive dissonance isn’t for me. I saw the good, I saw the bad, and I acknowledged both. There are some things you don’t do, if you want a happy life. You don’t marry a musician or a Muslim. You don’t buy a time share. You don’t get tattoos. You never take your first dose of heroin. You don’t trade peace for companionship.

Based on what I know of women, I expect to hear from her again. My guess is that she will pray God changes me and makes me what she wants. Maybe she’ll get friends to pray for our marriage. If so, it’s because she listens to morons and pimps who haven’t taught her that God doesn’t violate free will. I have started cursing their efforts to delude her.

She will eventually give up on me, because the one thing I can’t stand is manipulation. I am not going to end up like Adam, the world’s first beta, just because I wake up alone every morning.

Men are much happier alone than women. Being single drives women nuts. They base their self-worth on their marital status. Women are little girls, and little girls crave daddy’s attention. That sounds awful, but it’s true. I do not need mommy’s attention in order to feel valid.

Life is like Let’s Make a Deal. If you turn down the booby prize, it should mean you get the grand prize later. I’m not suggesting this lady is a booby prize. Just that she is not the grand prize. Is the grand prize a wife or just a life without the wrong woman? That’s the question.

I’m going to have my peace. I’m not going to spend the next week getting up and responding to this woman’s emails. I pray for her, but this distraction will not be permitted to persist. When God shows you a landmine, and you step on it anyway, it’s rebellion, and God may be very slow to rescue you.

They’ve Seen the Bait a Thousand Times

I have decided to follow up on my interaction with the Kenyan lady I met on a dating site.

I figured out that she was upset because I hate the prosperity gospel. I call people like Kenneth Copeland and Creflo Dollar liars and slavemasters. She sent an email suggesting I watch Copeland. He is an idiot, and I know it because I used to watch him 20 years ago. I fell for his lies because I wasn’t receiving guidance from the Holy Spirit.

Jesus said a man who called his brother a fool was in danger of hell’s fire. People have reminded me of that when I criticized Mammon preachers. Here’s the thing: Kenneth Copeland is not my brother. The word says as many as are led by the Spirit are sons of God. Copeland teaches garbage that ruins people’s lives. He’s not led by the Holy Spirit. If we don’t have the same father, he’s not my brother. He is an idiot. Jesus called people idiots.

This morning I sent her a long email giving my testimony with regard to prosperity preachers. I explained that I was very familiar with them and that I had learned they were wrong. I told her how I had been blessed in every way while cursing their ministries, praying God would destroy their organizations, and criticizing them in public. I told her I believed God rewarded me financially for this.

It’s all in the previous blog post.

I finally heard back from her. She sent three long emails.

In the first one, she said she had just finished her second 21-day round of prayer and fasting three days before encountering me online. She said Jesus had told her that this year, the enemy would try to rob people of their blessings by causing strife in the church.

I don’t want to get into boring detail, but I will say that she thinks Jesus told her to circle the wagons. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Don’t criticize ministers, because it drives people away from the church. I shouldn’t have to repeat it all, because the spirit behind it is obvious. “Don’t rock the boat. Play along.”

It reminds me of something I heard a few years ago when I was still a member of a church led by the convicted pedophile Alberto Santiago. He was preaching, and in my mind, I heard, “Stay on the treadmill,” over and over.

What is a treadmill? It’s a machine on which you walk a great deal without making any progress. Santiago had a god complex, and he was trying to make his church a cult. He and his masculine wife were doing a lot of things wrong, and they were damaging people’s lives and killing their own church. He kept people from going nowhere, and he wanted to manipulate them so they didn’t leave.

He wanted us to stay on the treadmill.

The Kenyan lady is on the treadmill, and she is inviting me to get back on. It’s like the scene in What’s Love Got to do With it? in which Ike Turner shows up with flowers and tries to get Tina to get back in his car so she can go back to work for him. Ike Turner learned everything he knew from Satan.

She’s also calling me an agent of Satan, whether she knows it or not. Why would she want to marry an agent of Satan? I chalk that down to her two X chromosomes. Women are better at cognitive dissonance. That’s why they vote for socialists.

There are a ton of things wrong with what she told me.

First of all, she says she believes a wife should be submissive. That means she shares the Christian belief that a man is the high priest of his house. God leads proper families through Christian husbands who hear from the Holy Spirit. Wives are supposed to listen to them. How can you say you’re submissive when you begin a relationship by giving an older, more experienced man lessons in basic doctrine?

Here is what I would ask: what does “submissive” mean to you? Does it mean you submit to a man only when he agrees with you? That isn’t submission at all. That’s matriarchy. Ewww. I prefer death.

She also gave me a bunch of scriptures intended to prove I don’t have the authority to question a man of God. If I don’t have that authority, how can I have the authority to rule our house? Paul contradicted Peter publicly. Jesus contradicted priests and scribes, as well as his disciples. The prophets did nothing but contradict other so-called prophets who were wrong. I have authority, too. I’m allowed to contradict people who are out of line, even if they have TV cameras pointed at them.

She says Kenneth Copeland has financed more than 40% of “the modern day revival around the world.” That’s not a good thing. It means he has used money he took by lying to people, and he has used it to build toxic churches that prevent other people from becoming children of God.

She still wants to make things work. Why? If I’m so ignorant and full of iniquity I need a woman to correct me, how could I ever be a worthwhile husband.

Many women believe it’s their job to create their husbands. No. Totally wrong. It’s a husband’s job to shape a wife.

She’s a very nice lady. She’s very sincere. She wants to fight evil. But she’s saying things that go against the way the kingdom works.

I told her I didn’t believe in argument. I said she should stick to her guns. I said if she thought I wasn’t right for her, she shouldn’t have me. I also said this: if I were a woman, and I thought my husband were wrong, I would try to go along with him while praying for God to correct him. I suggested she pray for God to correct me. I said I already prayed for it every day, and I said I would agree with her.

I said men were required to lead, and I said I could not be in a relationship in which a woman tried to teach me as though I had only received salvation last week. I said a man who isn’t allowed to lead would be an Ahab to her. I said he would be a disgrace to her and himself.

To sum up, we have doctrinal differences, she doesn’t really believe in submission (although she thinks she does), and she is trying to preserve an opportunity which, by her own standards, has no future.

Some people say women are unpredictable, but that’s not entirely true. Everything that’s going on between this woman and me is predictable. It’s cliche. Women want to run marriages. Women fall in love way too fast. Women will do way too much to make a go of relationships that are clearly built on rotten foundations.

I could help her by telling her these things, but a woman who wants to run a relationship can’t be taught.

Imagine me, married to this lady in her current state of mind. Either we would be at odds all the time, or I would have to pretend I believed what she says. Of course, neither option can happen.

Can she change? God knows, but I don’t. Women are supposed to marry up and let men change them, but not every woman is willing, and many men aren’t up to the job anyway. I can do it, but I can’t work with hardened clay.

I think I’ll hear from her a few more times. This is my prediction, based on what I know about women. She’s thinking I was sent by God, she think’s I’m a rare find, she really wants me, and her emotions are telling her to make it work. She’s not paying attention to the fact that I’m not part of her religion. She is probably somewhat angry at me for not being what she wants. Women are famous for that. She should be asking herself why God would send her a man she has to repair. God wouldn’t do that. He would send her a leader.

Wives are not supposed to shape husbands.

It’s unpleasant to see someone I like and respect so much, missing the mark so completely. I think it’s bait, to see if I’ll cave in and be like Samson or Adam. There must be a reward waiting for me now that I’ve turned the bait down. The punishment for taking the bait is obvious.

It’s all very interesting. It would be better to have a wife than all this engaging mental exercise, but being smart is fun, and thinking is fun. Using knowledge my father in heaven gave me is fun. Knowing you came to the right conclusions and passed a test is fun. I’ll take what I can get.

This is me not being beta.